Lavender Brown, Queen of All Issues of the Heart
by vindictive kitty
Summary: ‘Because when you’re nothing more than Lavender Brown, so wispy and insubstantial and lightly drawn, you can’t really have feelings. You’re secondary, no third…ary. And of course you can’t feel pain like theirs.’


**A/N: **I wrote this fic on a whim, and dear me, Lavender is actually starting to grow on me. I should write her more often. I kinda wish it was longer, but I really, really wanted to post it tonight. By the way, Lavender isn't even on the pull-out character list! Grr. Way to only further the point of my story 'Because when you're nothing more than Lavender Brown, so wispy and insubstantial and lightly drawn, you can't really have feelings. You're secondary, no third…ary. And of course you can't feel pain like theirs.' A glimpse inside Lavender Brown's mind at the tail end of HBP.

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, not me. Yippee.

**Spoilers**: Half-Blood Prince.

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I always knew that I was secondary, no third…ary to them. I've always known this, yet it took me this long to figure out why. I'm standing in the Great Hall as a warm breeze escapes through the open doors and lifts my hair slightly from my shoulders. Black robes swirl slightly around my ankles.

And then it hits me.

You, Lavender Brown, are an idiot.

Which is silly, because I've always known that too.

But, back to the story.

I walk out into the dazzling sunlight as more people than I've ever seen in my life gather in foldout seats for Professor Dumbledore's funeral. And I mean famous people too. I spot the bass player from the Weird Sisters and a wizard who looks vaguely like he was on the cover of Witch Weekly. I should know who he is, but I don't. I always know that kind of thing.

The Dream Team sits two rows behind me. I should be above calling them silly names like that, especially when they're my housemates. But what else can I do? Harry and Ginny are holding hands but they aren't looking at each other. Their expressions are ones of loving unity. There's something shifting behind Harry's eyes though, and I know it because I can read people like that.

He's leaving her tonight, I can almost taste it. He'll let her go and he won't look back. And what's more, she'll let him.

Hermione and Ron. Ron and Hermione.

Let's not even go there, mind.

Okay, okay.

They're holding onto each other as if they're the only ones who can anchor each other to this world. They're not kissing. Just holding each other. Tears glaze their faces. And yet today of all days, I could not bring myself to cry. My chest tightens, but not because I love Ron or anything. Mostly it's because he loves her. And I always knew it.

That makes me the villain of this piece, doesn't it?

I remember when we were going out and I could barely contain myself. Who was using who, I was never really sure. But as soon as _she _walked into the common room, his lips would always find mine. His mode of revenge was really quite quaint. Get her jealous by…sucking my face?

So why did I have to go and actually start liking him?

I'm Lavender Brown, queen of all issues of the heart. I know who likes who. I know who's going to like who. I _called _Cedric and Cho, for Merlin's sake! And I go and fall for the silly boy who we all knew was reserved for Hermione.

I always knew that the clock was ticking on us. I was Ron's "experience." A good snog, and I'm proud of it.

Ron and Hermione do not snog. The world stands still as his lips touch hers and a spark passes between them and humankind could be destroyed for all they care…

Ahem. Moving on.

I remember the day I broke up with him because he was too cowardly to do it himself.

I pull away from him, lips puffy from a long snog on the common room couch. Hermione walks through the door and scowls pointedly at us. I feel Ron's hand at the back of my neck as he tries to guide my mouth back to his. To put on a show. For her. I cannot do this anymore.

Say something, anything. "Ron, there's a darling new shop opening in Hogsmeade, and we should really go visit, really it'll be a blast and…" I'm babbling.

He cuts me off. Staring at me with a strangely unreadable expression, he finally blurts out, "why couldn't you be more like…" Ron clamps his mouth shut as if he had said something unforgivable. Which he had. His ears turn red like they always do. He mutters "I'm going to bed." _Why couldn't you be more like Hermione?_

I break up with him the next morning.

And today, during a funeral of all things, I can finally see this for what it really is. Hermione's bushy hair and bookish ways aren't her detractors. They're why Ron loves her. He loves her because she's real and solid and she's always there for him. Because they are best friends and true Gryffindors and Harry wouldn't be Harry without them.

Because when you're nothing more than Lavender Brown, so wispy and insubstantial and lightly drawn, you can't really have feelings. You're secondary, no third…ary. And of course you can't feel pain like theirs.

Seamus Finnegan is sitting two seats away from me and he kind of gives me a cute, lopsided grin. I've always sort of fancied him, you know.

I smile back because it's Seamus with his sandy hair and laughing eyes, and maybe today everything will just be okay.

Like I said before, we're at a funeral for Merlin's sake, and I should find the idea of pondering romance at all slightly disturbing.

But I don't.

Oh well. Dumbledore would have probably liked it better this way.

At least that's what I keep telling myself.

**The End.**

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